


there will be a day when you can't escape what you've done

by agentpolastri



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, dark!eve rise, eve casually murders, niko? idk him, villanelle just wants some comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentpolastri/pseuds/agentpolastri
Summary: They have a thing about bathrooms. Takes place during S3, after Villanelle returns from Russia.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	there will be a day when you can't escape what you've done

Eve retched the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Her throat stung with acidity, tongue bitter and faintly detecting a metallic taste from when she had bitten the inside of her cheek too hard earlier that day. The moment was oddly reminiscent of a dark night in her home: pills, a knife, a black dress and a lipstick colour that was much sharper than it looked. On cue, her mind tantalizingly played _her_ voice in Eve’s head.

_Will you give me everything I want?_

Knuckles blanched as her grip tightened on the outer edges of the toilet. She felt a hand in her hair, holding it back courteously, like they were two drunk girls in a club bathroom bonding over the smell of cigarette smoke and the acrid aftertaste of vodka or gin. Eve stilled, breathing coming hard. She stared at her distorted reflection off of the handle of the toilet: waiting, seeing, expecting. The shadow behind her stared back politely.

“Did you come to finish the job?” She asked, catching a rogue, cynical smile and reeling it back in just as quickly. She was thankful for their position, knowing her expression, the way anger was certainly seeping from every line in her face, was hidden from sight. 

“Don’t be so self-centered, Eve, not everything is about you,” Villanelle scoffed, letting her fingers linger in thick, raven curls before completely withdrawing, as if staying too close to the other woman for too long would simply overpower her senses. Maybe that was the truth. After their violent clash on the bus, it was difficult to gauge where each of them stood in relation to one another. Not that it was ever _easy._

Before she could reply, Villanelle stepped out of the stall, crossing the bathroom to investigate her appearance. Eve followed suit but wordlessly made a beeline for the sink. She pumped generous globs of soap onto her shaking hands and lathered fiercely with clear intention to scrub the skin underneath as raw as possible. She scrubbed and scratched and rubbed as if it erased the last hour of her life, as if it erased any of her _intent._

Dried flakes of crimson flicked off of her palms and dissolved in the sink to make a temporary ravine of blood, whirling around the porcelain and draining just as fast. 

“ _Eve,_ ” Villanelle purred. “You have been busy without me. How could you?” 

“Shut up,” Eve snapped, tearing a paper towel from the dispenser to quickly dry her hands. “Do you think that this has _nothing_ to do with you?” She knew she was being irrational, knew that Villanelle wouldn’t hurt Niko, knew that the handwriting would _never_ match with the assassin’s, and yet she _still_ found herself firmly planting the blame on the nearest possible source: Oksana. It was unfair, but at the rate Eve’s life was spiralling at, she needed something to grab onto. Something with purchase. 

Someone like Villanelle.

Her mind briefly flickered to Niko in the other room, lying motionlessly on the hospital bed. Wires crossed him every which way. The tracheostomy stuck out like a sore thumb from the bandages around his neck, much like the knife buried in his chest. It brought up a Parisian memory: Eve’s legs braced on either side of the warm body underneath her, even warmer wet, crimson blood soaking both of them. It tugged something deep in her gut and made heat rise to her skin, something Eve frantically labelled as _disgust_ before she could dwell too much on the growing darkness inside of her. 

At that, Villanelle hesitated. “I do not know what you’re talking about.” 

Eve crossed the room in long strides to invade her personal space. They were nearly chest to chest, breathing in the same air, sharing the same breath. From this close, Villanelle could count every little divot on Eve’s skin. From this close, Eve could count every speckle in Villanelle’s irises. She lost her train of thought, stuck somewhere between registering their sudden proximity, memories of the last time they were this close flooding her mind, and trying not to let her eyes flicker down to those very same lips. 

She sighed.

“Don’t be stupid,” Eve said, and yanked Villanelle into a kiss that was more clacking teeth and biting than the soft press of flesh. She felt Villanelle allow it, felt her back up against the wall as Eve pressed forward into her body, insistently devouring every breath she took. The assassin began to respond, though slowly and placatingly, as if savouring her taste instead of being consumed with her emotions and rapidly spiralling into insanity. 

Villanelle’s shoulder blades dug painfully into the bathroom wall when Eve shoved her away in frustration. She reached up to touch her lips gingerly and to wipe away stray saliva. Not that she didn’t _enjoy_ the kiss--especially with _Eve_ \--but it was off. The entire situation was… off. She reached out to take Eve’s hand, only to be smacked away just as quickly.

“Don’t,” Eve muttered. Villanelle felt a pang of disappointment in her chest, but obeyed, opting to cross her arms in front of her chest. She watched as Eve turned to distance herself and smoothed her wild hair away from her face. 

“I need to go.” It was spoken gruffly. How long before someone discovered the body on the hospital bed? How long could she keep herself together, even though she could feel a deep shadow threatening to tear her apart from the inside out? For how long could Eve pretend that everything was _fine,_ like she hadn’t just completely _obliterated_ the last bastion of hope for a semi-normal life without any worry aside from getting body fluids on her new turtleneck? 

As Eve reached for the door handle, Villanelle suddenly called out. 

“Eve, wait,” she said, shifting her weight from where she leaned on the wall. She took a few steps towards Eve but still stopped a distance away, regarding her like some sort of wild animal in a cage. Her lips parted, then something changed in the look of her eyes. Reluctance. Confusion. Then hard indifference. 

“There’s blood on your jacket,” Villanelle finished half-heartedly. Eve followed her gaze and exhaled through her nose, nodding, not even making a move to try removing it. 

“Thanks,” she replied, before leaving her alone in the bathroom without a second glance.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just vibing out here you feel me........i just want eve to kill someone again ngl  
> find me at @agentpolastri on tumblr.


End file.
